


Tapped Out

by Llwyden ferch Gyfrinach (Llwyden)



Category: Spinal Tap
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-30
Updated: 2007-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:17:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llwyden/pseuds/Llwyden%20ferch%20Gyfrinach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David/Nigel post-concert blues and their cure. Or their start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tapped Out

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the dailyporn community on JF.

"Wooooo! Thank you, Copenhagen!" Nigel shouted triumphantly as they strode off the stage. David was reasonably sure they were in Amsterdam, Derek swore it was Murmansk, but as the stage manager always cut their mikes as soon as they were done, it hardly mattered. One little mistake that once. Berlin, Vienna, what was the problem?

They clowned around and mugged at the ever-present cameras as they pushed their way through roadies, press, and anyone else who had kissed enough ass (or blown enough dick) to get backstage. David bounced about like a giddy teenager as usual, grinning at everyone in range, trusting Nigel to pull the prettiest birds for them both. He spotted Derek chatting up some bird about a head taller than he was — he claimed he never looked at their faces anyway, he might as well have the good stuff at eye level.

Peter pushed past them all quickly, and David shook his head. I mean, yeah, the man could drum, but where the hell had they dug him out of, Catholic school? What was the point in touring, if you weren't pulling birds, booze, or really first-class medication? Who'd ever heard of a rock star being faithful to his wife?

They piled into the limo and the doors slammed behind them as they left the arena for the drive to the hotel. Across from him, Nigel shook his head, no doubt to clear the ringing of his ears in the sudden silence. David grinned in understanding and leaned forward to thump his own legs and Nigel's impartially where they wove together between the seats.

"_Big Bottom_," Nigel identified the rhythm.

""I know you are, but what am I?" David shot back.

"Moron," he accused gleefully.

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"Idiot!"

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"Stupid bugger!"

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"Ars—"

"Boys!" Ian peered back from the front seat, and they stopped like guilty schoolboys. David, his back to Ian, made a gruesome face, and Nigel cracked up.

"Did you have something to say to me, Mr St Hubbins?" Ian asked testily.

"Who, me?" David turned to him, the picture of innocence.

"Do you see another St Hubbins here?"

"Actually, I was thinking of changing my name," Nigel piped up. "D'you fancy 'Nigel St Hubbins'? I reckoned we could be, like, the St Hubbins brothers, or something."

"Oh, yes." Derek nodded sagely, puffing on that abominable pipe of his. "Me as well. 'Derek St Hubbins'. Much better ring than 'Smalls', really."

Ian's face grew steadily darker. "Regardless of what you may do in the future," he snapped, "at the present time, I know of only one St Hubbins, and I was addressing him. If he or any of you have a problem with me, I suggest you say so now, and I'll refrain from wasting any more of your time."

They all fell silent, stunned.

"Are you okay, Ian?" Nigel asked. "We're only taking the piss out of you, you know."

"Oh, really?" Ian sneered. "And I'd thought you were serious."

"No, really," Nigel told him earnestly. "I'd never really change my name, would I? 'Cause then you'd have to go change it on all the albums, and anyway I like my name."

Ian sighed. "That's very good, Nigel. Thank you."

Nigel nodded. "You're welcome. Look, I'm sorry if we scared you there; I didn't mean to, only you looked like you could use a laugh, because you've been so upset, you know, since Sharon left you."

David winced and gave him the "cut" motion that meant he'd said something he shouldn't have, but Ian just repeated "Thank you, Nigel," and turned back to the front. David breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hey, guys, was that our best show ever, or what?" Derek asked overenthusiastically.

"Yeah!" Nigel answered him, and they shared another round of high-fives.

David rolled his eyes, sharing a glance with Nigel — Derek always said it was their best show ever. But it always was, and there wasn't any harm in being truthful, was there?

"We are going _up_, my man!" Viv mimed their progress by bashing his thumbs on the roof, and they all agreed with enthusiastic hollers.

Nigel hugged David, clapped Derek on the shoulder, and grinned at the others. David sat back and broke open one of the limo's whiskey bottles. "This is the life!" He toasted the others' agreement and drank.

 

"This is fucked!" David paced the room rapidly, still high on energy from the show that he hadn't worked off.

He wasn't likely to get the chance, either. The hotel was taking their class and image a bit too seriously, and none of the girls were being allowed up. Ian probably could've smoothed things over, but he was nowhere to be found. Whether this was on purpose or just because he was sulking was anyone's guess.

Nigel walked in from his own appraisal, and David turned to him hopefully. "Well?"

"There's only one maid under sixty," he groused, "and she's in Derek's room."

David swore, long and colourfully.

"Why don't we just head back to the stadium?" Nigel asked.

"We can't," David informed him darkly.

"Why not?"

"Because the fucking limo driver only answers to fucking Ian, and when I called the fucking stadium, all I fucking got was the fucking phone knocked off the cradle and the sounds of every fucking person in the place fucking fucking!" He whirled, grabbed the nearest object, and threw it at the wall. The pillow hit with an unsatisfying whuff.

"Oh." Nigel sat on the bed, thinking for a while as he worked it out. "We could get high and watch the telly."

"No, we bloody well can't."

"Why not?"

"Because Viv's used up everything." David threw himself back on the bed and punched and kicked it in frustration. "Argh!"

Nigel got up to pace in his stead. He was slower but more deliberate, spending as much energy in two steps as David used in five. "I thought we were supposed to be fucking rock stars," he grumbled.

"We are," David agreed.

"Well, then, rock stars are supposed to have sex and drugs and all that, and all we've got's the rock and roll, and I want to know where the rest of it's got to!"

"It's with our bloody roadies and our bloody keyboardist," David informed him. "Any other brilliant ideas?"

"We could always throw the telly out the window." Nigel eyed it dubiously.

"We haven't got a window."

"Oh. Yeah."

"We've got the minibar."

"Would the TV fit in that?" Nigel's brow wrinkled assessingly.

David sighed. "No, I mean there's probably something to drink in it. Check and see."

"Oh, okay." He bent over to check it out and came up with three miniature bottles and a can. "We got vodka, scotch, rum, and I think it's beer. Which ones you want?"

"Vodka and beer."

They drank in silence and, in sheer perversity, threw the empty bottles at the wall, leaving scratches in the paint. That wasted almost five minutes.

Nigel threw a temper-tantrum, screaming and cussing and kicking everything in sight (except David; he'd drawn that line early in their friendship), then threw himself down on the bed next to him. That wasted another — David looked at the clock — two minutes.

"Feel better?"

"No."

They sighed in unison.

"Bloody hell," David lamented. "I need to get off."

"You want me to go in the bathroom or something?" Nigel offered.

"Huh?"

"You know, till you're done, or whatever? Or I could just, like, turn on the telly really loud."

David actually considered it for a second. "Thanks, mate. It's not the same, though." Now that he'd thought about it, though, his racing blood had headed south, turning "kinda hard" into "damn uncomfortable in tight pants", and he squirmed.

"Yeah, I know," Nigel mourned. "Beats nothing, though."

David gave him a sour look for the pun.

"What?" Nigel looked back innocently.

"Never mind." David shook his head.

"I sure wish the girls were here." That didn't deserve comment, so David didn't. Nigel sighed. "I could sure do with some pussy. Nice, hot, tight, wet ..."

"Nigel," David interrupted, voice under better control than the rest of him, "if you don't stop that now, I will have to kill you."

"What?" Nigel sounded offended. "All I was saying is —"

"I know what you're saying, just leave it, okay?"

Nigel pouted and stared at the ceiling. "There's no need to get nasty. I was just wishing the girls were up here. One of 'em looked a lot like that bird in Barcelona, remember her? Those tricks she knew —"

David remembered all too well, and growled as he turned around and grabbed Nigel around the throat. "If you don't stop —" He broke off with a whimper as Nigel, startled, moved, pressing against him rather more closely than was comfortable. Or actually, close enough to be very comfortable, indeed.

Nigel's eyes widened as he felt David's cock against his hip, and he froze in place.

"Nigel?"

"Yes?"

"Please move."

"Okay," he agreed. "David?"

"Yes?"

"You have to let go of me first."

"Okay." He concentrated on his fingers, got them off of Nigel's neck and onto the bed. It was harder than he would've thought.

Slowly, Nigel began to move, sliding along David's body in an attempt to get out. David gasped and clutched at Nigel's shoulders.

"Nigel?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't move."

They lay there for a minute, both fearing to move.

"Um, David?"

"Yes, Nigel?"

"If you're not going to move... I mean...um..." Nigel faltered and squirmed a little, and David whimpered.

"Nigel —"

"I was just thinking, back in school, we could help each other sometimes, and if you like ... give a bloke a hand, you know?"

That almost did it right there. "We're a bit old for that, right?" he protested feebly.

"Not that old," Nigel pointed out.

"No, well, maybe not ..." Nigel's fingers stroked his balls tentatively. "Oh, fuck it!"

He scrabbled at Nigel's waist, yanking down those pants too tight for briefs, and Nigel peeled down his, and Nigel's cock was bigger than when they'd been boys, but so was his really, and it surely wasn't all _that_ different...

Only, oh god, where had he learned that? David bit down hard on Nigel's shoulder, unable to stop himself, and the next time he thrust, his tip met the wiry hair around the base of Nigel's cock, and that was _damned_ different, but it felt so good...

He pulled himself closer, and Nigel grabbed his arse, and then they were pushing against each other and finding a rhythm that worked, and it was almost just like sex, and it was the most natural thing in the world to kiss the bloke that was making you feel this good, and they hadn't known so many things when they were teenagers...

It was miles better than it had been, better probably than it should be, and it didn't take long at all for David to groan and Nigel to shout, and there was twice as much come as there usually was, but no-one complained he was too heavy when he collapsed half on top of them or bitched about him falling asleep right after like he always did, and everything was good.

David woke slowly and stretched, feeling nicely shagged out until he remembered just why. _Jesus Christ._ He winced. _Did we really do that?_ He cracked his eyes open slowly and looked around, finding Nigel a few feet away, sitting against the headboard and staring at him in that intense way that meant he was thinking about something.

_Shit._ David cast around for something to say. "Hi."

"Hi," Nigel answered quietly, still staring.

David shifted, grimacing at the stickiness on his skin, then sighed in relief as it gave him an idea. "I think I'll go see if there's any hot water. You need the loo before I hop in? No? Great! I'll be out in a few." He escaped to the shower, ignoring Nigel's faintly worried frown.

He took a long time in there, scrubbing himself diligently with the little bar of hotel soap. He wondered briefly how much of what he was scrubbing off was his and how much was Nigel's, but cut off that thought quickly.

He grabbed a towel when he finished, wishing they were a little bit larger, and rubbed it over himself before tucking it around his waist.

Nigel was sitting in the same place when he came back out, and looked up from picking at his nails to contemplate David's face. "Water nice and hot?"

"Oh, yeah. They really know how to do it right, these Swedes. Norwegish. Whatever."

"Oh, good." Nigel nodded. "Look, David, about —"

"No." David cut him off decisively.

"No?"

"No," he affirmed. "Let's just don't think about it or anything, right? I mean, it doesn't mean we're ... anything, you know? Never happened." He rifled through his suitcase for something to wear to bed, feeling fairly ridiculous. After all, it was _Nigel_ in there, not like he hadn't ... whatever.

"No, of course not." Nigel nodded, speaking quietly. "Probably for the best, really. You think?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely." He pulled on a pair of boxers his latest girlfriend had given him and headed back for the bed. Nigel scooted over to let him in, and he turned out the light and settled down, feeling Nigel slide down to lie beside him.

They lay on their backs side-by-side for a while, staring stiffly into the darkness.

"So," Nigel began.

David waited for him to continue, but he never did. "Yeah, Nige?"

"Nothing. Good-night, David."

"Good-night, Nigel."


End file.
